Page 21 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
The man continued looking at Ellen. ‘Am I, Lady Eleanor?’
She nodded, holding out the document on which the ink was still drying. ‘The evidence is here.’
‘My journey is wasted then.’
Paul did not answer, neither did Ellen, and for a moment the man just stood there looking at them as if he expected something else.
Then he said, ‘Very well…’ and reached into his inside pocket. ‘I have this for you. I was to give it to you when I found you, if you were already wed.’ He held out a folded letter, the red wax seal on the top had been stamped with the Duke of Pembroke’s mark. Ellen took it.
‘I will leave you then.’
‘Wait,’ Ellen said. ‘Will you take letters for me, Mr Wareham, if I write them quickly?’
The man had already moved away, but he turned back, agreeing with a nod. ‘If you wish me to.’
‘I will only be a moment.’ Ellen looked at the blacksmith. ‘May I purchase some paper?’
The blacksmith nodded, looking at Paul to agree the price.
Mr Wareham returned to her father’s carriage as they entered the small smithy.
It did not take her long to write three separate letters and fold them, as Paul watched. The first she wrote to her father, asking for his forgiveness. The second she addressed to her mother, asking for understanding. The third was to her sister, Penny, expressing regret at leaving her behind.
He remembered writing letters home when he had joined the regiment. They had been full of light and hope as hers were. He had given up writing because who at home wished to hear of his desperate need to keep his men fed, and alive, and how many men had been killed in battle, or how far they had marched that day? He hoped Ellen’s joy in life and the hope in her words would not die when she learned his life.
But he refused the thoughts of consequence or future now. This was their wedding day, their wedding night, and tomorrow was Christmas, the first day of the twelve days of feasting; a time to count blessings.
‘Here, Mr Wareham.’ Ellen rushed back out into the road, bearing her letters. Paul could see her willing her family to support her marriage as she handed the letters to the man in the carriage. Her father would never approve. Paul had seen her father’s face when the man had turned down his offer, as though it were a piss-pot that he had offered.
The Duke’s man took the folded pieces of paper without a word.
Ellen looked at Paul, biting her lower lip.
He went to her. ‘Ellen.’ He took both her hands. ‘Do you regret this?’
‘No.’ The denial came immediately.
He smiled, ignoring the Duke’s carriage pulling away behind her. ‘Shall we go to Carlisle and find an inn?’
‘Yes.’
He turned towards their carriage. ‘Do you think he even tried to catch us in time to stop our marriage? He did not seem overly concerned.’
‘He is committed to my father. He has worked for him for several years.’
‘Time is not the thing that makes a man loyal. Trust and respect make a man loyal. I do not think he cared one way or another that we were married.’
5
Ellen’s heartbeat pounded. A part of it was heavy with sadness because they had married without her family present. But it had been beautiful and Paul’s vows had made her heart overflow with joy, pushing her guilt and fear aside.
She loved him. She did not regret her choice.
Paul had left the lamp unlit again, so she opened her father’s letter, rested her shoulder against the side of the carriage and held the paper near the window. The clouds had had begun to clear and the moonlight was brighter than ever on the snow, so she could see.
There were just two lines of his precise, formal script.
Eleanor
